Fish and Tricks
by TheFoxinator
Summary: Spike's plans to celebrate Mother's Day with Drusilla are cut short by Angelus' poor choices in dinner. Spike/Drusilla Angelus/Drusilla 2.20 "Go Fish"


**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

**A/N: Okay, the time line is a little fuzzy, but 2.20 "Go Fish" seems to take place over an eight-day school week, which should at some point contain May 10****th**** 1998, so shush.**

* * *

He's been planning this night for a while.

Months, actually. Pretty much since his Valentine's was swept away from him with a warm heart and a functioning penis. But Angelus has no claim on this holiday, not where Dru's concerned. For Mother's Day, she's all Spike's.

Or, should be, at any rate.

"Jesus bloody Christ." Spike waves his hand in front of his nose as if the action could ward his pained nostrils from the acrid smell. Sodding vampire super senses. More trouble than they're worth some days. "What the hell, man?"

"Shut up," Angelus growls, hunkered in the corner.

"In the fountain?" The disgust in his expression is just as easily conveyed by his tone.

"The Slayer," Angelus accuses. He spits once more into the little pond and turns to glare at Spike, sitting in the entry way. "This is her fault."

"She poisoned you?" Despite the stench (vampires just aren't really made for vomiting) Spike pushes across the courtyard, skirting around a toppled deck chair. The smell is foul enough for him to start thinking Angelus might have something of a good idea with the heaving, but the need to see his grandsire's face as he tells him his told-you-so is too great to ignore. Besides, if Angelus is really out of commission, Spike might be able to slip away with Dru for a night on the town with even less hassle than expected. About bloody time something went his way.

"There was something wrong with that kid she was with." Angelus takes a somewhat decent go at getting up, gets into a crouch position, one arm against the stone flowerbed, before he thinks better of it and turns to retch a bit more into the fountain.

"The Slayer poisoned some kid, so you'd get sick?" Spike asks, not bothering to hide his scepticism, or his revulsion. Might be a touch of glee in there too. "In't she good and all? Not one for randomly poisoning her mates?"

"She had to know I would be there. It was a trick. She set me up."

"Right," says Spike, in the tone of voice a person uses when they absolutely don't believe the other person is right at all. "Well, then, might be best you see to _her _instead next time. Maybe this'll teach you to stop playing with your food."

Angelus rises at the challenge, growling his foul breath and, yes, that's definitely vomit on his lip. He grabs Spike by the collar only to be interrupted by a delighted "Ooh!" from Drusilla as she pushes through the curtains. Then the smell catches up to her and her features scrunch. "Ew."

Angelus glares at Spike a moment more before he turns, drops to a knee, and coughs until he gags. Spike settles back into his chair and rolls his shoulders; it's not very difficult to look collected in the face of a thrashing when the would-be thrasher is vomiting in his own decorative garden fountain.

Drusilla slips up behind Spike, her manicured hand slipping over his shoulder and under the collar of his duster. "Look, look," she purrs, "Daddy's all filled with fish." She hisses. "They're burning."

"That's great, Dru," Angelus grinds out between gags.

"Drusilla," Spike reclaims her attention. She whips her head to him, hair fanning and settling around her shoulders once more and her eyes wide with excitement. "Do you know what day it is, pet?"

"Oh?" Her pretty face draws into a look of utter concentration. "Do I get a hint? Hm? Do I?"

Spike covers her hand, draws it from her shoulder and guides her around him until she's standing in front of him, bouncing lightly in her heels. "Well, it involves you and I goin' out on our own. Dinner, shopping, catch a show. Got a surprise for you, too."

Drusilla grins, blood red lips revealing perfectly white teeth. "Did my sweet William get me a present?"

"Something like that," he grins back at her. "Got something to show you."

"That's great, Spikey," Angelus coughs. "But, you know, Dru, maybe before you watch him demonstrate some wheelies, which I'm sure look really great and all, why don't you run out and grab me something fresh. Help get rid of this bad taste."

She doesn't hesitate on it, claps her hands in excitement. "It'll be a party!" Dru delightedly declares, before Spike can even begin to open his mouth in protest. She's already up the stairs and out in the night by the time he finishes calling out her name.

Spike watches her go with that now familiar feeling of his usual appreciation, because she's gorgeous, his girl is, overtaken by an overwhelming apprehension. He trusts her, or he wants to trust her, the way he did for over a century, but since Angelus' return, he can feel her attention waning. Wonders how long he has before he loses her, wonders how long it'll take to win her back.

Now his plans for the evening are slipping away further from grasp with every retch from Angelus, crouched before his own mess, and all Spike can do is sit there, watching the woman he loves be stolen away from him in every sense. Missed out on Valentine's, and back when Angelus first showed up for Dru's party, and now she hasn't got the time to be his sire. Can't even sit around long enough to celebrate with him. Mother's Day, his good news, none of it.

It's not Dru's fault, he knows. She's just busy is all, gets distracted easily. Angelus takes her away with how he's made her to be. Angelus broke her in just the right ways to suit himself, and as much as she loves Spike, Dru just can't resist that.

It's not until he finds himself abruptly rolling backwards that Spike rips his gaze from the now-empty steps. He slaps his hands downs, catches the push rims, and halts the motion and thank fucking everything unholy for residual nerve damage, because that's probably the only thing keeping him from jumping away at Angelus' touch when the vampire leans back against Spike's legs.

Spike struggles with his brake. It sticks a little, probably shouldn't have attacked the chair as hard as he did, seeing how he does still need it, but he does wrestle the lever into place.

"Don't move," Angelus commands.

"Fuck you."

Grandsire tilts his head back, resting against Spike's knees. "You write her a poem?" His chuckle sounds raw and he has to cut it short when it gives way to a gagging hiccup. He sits up a bit better, straightening out while still leaning against Spike. He grins to himself despite the lack of response. "You can still read it. And, hey, I'm not trying to kill your plans here, but you know how Dru is. She worries. Likes to take care of the things she loves."

Smug bastard.

It'd be easier than Angelus'd like to think, killing him. Here, now. Snatch up a branch, shove it through while he's down and out and comfy up against Spike's legs. Wouldn't see it coming.

And Spike'd have Dru back, way it used to be, nothing keeping her distracted. Hell, they could still celebrate Mother's Day before they left wretched old SunnyD in their wake. Forget about Angelus and the Slayer and everything that's been so wrong lately. Everything that's upside and inside-out. Dru'd come around his way eventually. She'd come to see how even though they'd waited for him for so long, Angelus just doesn't fit anymore. Not with them. They're better than that now. Don't need his approval. Just need each other.

But when Angelus sticks his head back into the fountain, heaving once again, Spike's hand falls on his back free off stakes, palm flat.

Angelus clears his throat and spits. "Good boy."


End file.
